


When I'm With You

by Romirola



Category: Stitchers (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hair Cuddles, Migraine, Oneshot, Romance, camsten, mentions of vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:48:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25983103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romirola/pseuds/Romirola
Summary: When Cameron has a migraine, Kirsten struggles to find a way to help him through the pain. Camsten Oneshot.
Relationships: Kirsten Clark/Cameron Goodkin
Kudos: 14





	When I'm With You

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, dear readers! Hoping everyone is staying safe and healthy during this difficult time. I hope you enjoy this story. Feedback is always welcome and appreciated! Thanks for reading!

It started with a dull ache on the right side of his head, just below the hairline and just behind his eye.

  
That was three hours ago. Despite his best attempt to explain away the pain at its onset, Cameron Goodkin was finally ready to admit that he had a migraine.

  
Since then, the neuroscientist had drawn all the shades in his loft, voluntarily turned off his laptop, and let his remote fall to the floor without a thought of retrieving it. The room was still far too bright for his liking, but as soon as the sunset in a few more hours, he knew the light would finally disappear. He brought his fingers up to his eyebrow and gently brushed them against his skin. The slight movement did nothing to lessen his pain, so he let his upper body slump towards the armrest and hoisted his feet up from the floor onto the couch. Cameron sighed in defeat and let his eyes drift shut for a moment. He gathered his thoughts together, forcing his mind into a moment of clarity before making the descent into sluggishness and painful throbbing that he knew awaited him.

  
_The door is locked. My phone is charging and out of reach. That’s good. Won’t be tempted to look at the time or anything. The alarm is set for weekdays, so it won’t go off in the morning. I still need to-_  
“Cameron?”

  
Cameron inhaled sharply, wondering why and how Kirsten could make her voice, usually melodious and bright, to sound so shrill that he could feel each syllable reverberate in his head. “Kirsten,” he exhaled, pushing himself into a sitting upright, or at least as upright as he could tolerate. “Hey, that was quick.”

  
Kirsten set the bag of barbeque takeout on kitchen counter and crossed to the couch. “Are you okay?”

  
“Mhmm,” Cameron answered, his eyes closing again. He felt a dip in the couch and deduced that Kirsten had sat down next to him. “’M fine. This happens sometimes. No biggie.” He tried to dismiss her concern with a causal flick of his wrist, but he barely mustered enough effort to twitch his index finger.

  
“‘No biggie?’ Cameron, you look awful.” She scooted closer to him and let her hand cup his own. “And you’re sweating,” she noted worriedly, gripping his hand tighter.

  
“Just a migraine. I know how to deal with it,” he shrugged off in a breathy voice. “Go eat your ribs before they get cold.”

  
Kirsten cocked her hand to the side and took in Cameron’s prone form. She noticed her had changed from his plaid shirt to a loose tee-shirt and replaced his jeans with a pair of windbreaker pants. His glasses were on the table beside him, meaning that he had removed his contacts already. “This has happened before?” Her worry grew as Cameron blinked owlishly at her, taking more time to process her words than he had ever needed.

  
“Once in a while,” Cameron finally confirmed. “Since college, I guess. I can deal with it fine on my own.” To prove his point, Cameron squeezed Kirsten’s hand before tugging it to his mouth and placing a gentle kiss on the back of her hand. “Eat, really. Don’t worry about me.”

  
Kirsten glanced at the takeout, but her own appetite had disappeared now that she knew Cameron was in pain. “What about your brisket? And I got us a side of the mashed potatoes you like,” she tried to entice. “Maybe having something to eat will make you feel better.”

  
“Ugh, no,” Cameron answered quickly. “My head hurts too much even to think about food right now, Stretch. And besides, if things progress like they usually do, the nausea is gonna kick in soon,” he slurred as his chin dipped towards his chest. “The less in my stomach there is, the better.” He crossed his arms over his chest, gripping his biceps and giving a small squeeze. “I’m fine, Kirsten, and I’ll be even better once I fall asleep. Have your ribs and put my stuff in the fridge, please. Just promise me you’ll save me some of those potatoes?” He forced a crooked smile onto his face to placate her.

  
Kirsten nodded silently and crossed to the table so she could do as Cameron asked. He could tell that she was moving slower than normal, probably trying to minimize the amount of noise she made.  
When Kirsten was out of sight, Cameron let out a sigh of relief and sank deeper into the couch cushions. Having lived alone for so many years now, he had grown accustomed to dealing with the occasional migraine by himself. Linus was one of the few people he ever told about them, and even then, Cameron only disclosed having the migraine when it was absolutely necessary- having to cancel plans for a video game night because he knew he would not be able to look at the screen or begging Linus to cover for him when his leftover grogginess in the morning led to his arriving late to the lab. Over the years, Cameron developed a solid routine for getting himself through the massive headache. A major part of that routine, however, had been complete isolation from the outside world so that he could feel free to be as miserable as he wished. Usually, that meant sleeping on his couch, too exhausted to move himself to his bedroom, tossing and turning for hours until he finally fell asleep to escape the explosions of pain that wracked his brain. Not to mention, he usually spent the night next to a garbage can lined with a plastic bag in case he could not make it to bathroom to throw up in the toilet.

  
_Garbage can. Right. I should get that now, before I need it._

  
Cameron gritted his teeth and forced himself into a sitting position. Once he felt his bare feet flat on the floor, he used every bit of strength he had to push up into a standing position. He wavered for a moment, but used the arm of the couch to stay upright. Mission in mind, he stalked over to the Death Star wastebasket under his desk and clutched the rim between his fingers. He made it halfway to the kitchen to line it with a plastic bag before the fridge door slammed shut. The unexpected noise sent a jolt of electricity through his forehead, causing him to stagger a bit.

  
“Cameron, sit down before you fall down!” Kirsten said, rounding the counter to close the distance between herself and Cameron. “Please,” she added in a softer voice, snatching the wastebasket from Cameron’s hands.

  
“I didn’t want to wait until I started throwing up to get it,” Cameron scowled. “It’ll save me a carpet cleaning bill.”

  
“But you don’t need to get it. I’m here and…” She carefully smoothed out the plastic bag and secured it around the rim of the Death Star. “I can do it for you.”

  
Cameron huffed and begrudgingly allowed Kirsten to steer him back to the couch. “I’m not helpless. I can take care of myself.” He searched her face for any indication that she understood that simple fact. “I’ll sleep it off on the couch tonight and come morning, I’ll be fine. It’s just a bad headache.”

  
“You know as well as I do that a migraine is more than that, Dr. Neuroscience.” Kirsten met Cameron’s gaze and saw the desperation in his piercing eyes. “A migraine is a response to a trigger that causes your overstimulated neurons to produce pain, sensitivity to light and sound, nausea, vomiting, dizziness, aura, and a bunch of other symptoms that sound awful. In other words, you are not fine and you do need help.”

  
“Did you just google that now?” Cameron sniped.

  
“Yeah, I did,” Kirsten admitted in a small voice. “Because I wanted to understand what was happening to you and to figure out how I could help.”

  
How many times had she had some variation of this conversation with Cameron? The heart surgery he had endured as a child left Cameron with more scars that the one that graced his chest. After being protected, or as Cameron would say, overprotected, by his worried parents for years, Cameron was reluctant to allow any other person, including Kirsten, to see any shred of vulnerability or weakness within him. During the times he would need it most, he vehemently rejected any of the comfort that Kirsten offered. Cameron’s refusal to accept the help he so clearly needed was infuriating for anyone to encounter. For someone who spent most of her life with temporal dysplasia, such as Kirsten, Cameron’s behavior was downright confusing and, if she was interpreting her own feelings correctly, a little bit hurtful. Cameron was so quick to jump to Kirsten’s aid at every chance he could get, yet he would not let her even try to do the same for him.

  
A sudden burst of pain sliced down the middle of Cameron’s head and he almost successfully suppressed a groan. “I know what a migraine is and I know how I feel. I don’t need you to tell me!” He swallowed at the harsh tone of his voice and twisted his body so that he faced the back of the couch. “There’s nothing you can do that I can’t do for myself.”

  
Kirsten pursed her lips and nodded once to let Cameron know she heard him, but his eyes were squeezed shut. “Okay,” she gritted between her teeth. As she stood, she stoically announced, “Then I will eat in the kitchen so the scent doesn’t make you puke. I googled that, too.”

  
Guilt bubbled up in Cameron’s gut, but he pushed it aside and buried his face into the pillow.

* * *

  
For the third time over the two hours, Kirsten heard Cameron hurry from the couch to the bathroom, spew whatever he had left in his stomach into the toilet with enough force to make the loft’s walls shake, and trudge back to the couch. She flipped onto her stomach and craned her neck so that she could see the numbers on her digital alarm clock on the nightstand.

  
9:17PM.

  
Normally, Kirsten relished moments of silence. Cameron was very rarely a silent person. He was constantly humming to himself, drumming his fingers against the table as he worked, or worst of all, doing both at the same time. Whereas Cameron seemed to thrive when he had some sort of sound accompanying his every action, Kirsten saw noise as a distraction from whatever it was she was actually supposed to be doing.

  
But tonight?

  
Tonight, the silence bothered Kirsten. Worried her, even.

  
Cameron had made it clear to her that he wanted space and Kirsten had planned to oblige him. Her resolved waned the longer she wondered what the silence meant for Cameron.

  
_Is he in more pain? Is he dizzy? Does he have anything left in his stomach to throw up? When is he going to feel better?_ All of those questions skirted around the one she really wanted to ask. _Is there a way I can help him?_

  
She glanced again at the clock to count down the hours until she would have to get up in the morning: 9:19PM.

  
Unable to stay away from Cameron one second longer, Kirsten threw off her comforter and slipped her feet into the fluffy yellow slippers she had waiting at the side of the bed. She tiptoed out of the bedroom and approached the couch, hanging back in the doorway for a breath to let her eyes adjust to the darkness.

  
A hushed moan reached Kirsten’s ears and she instantly longed for silence she had just been cursing.

  
Urged on by the noise, Kirsten lengthened her strides and suddenly found herself leaning over the couch to get a better look at Cameron.

  
If Cameron had any idea that Kirsten was next to him, he showed no sign of that knowledge. Cameron’s left arm was thrown over his head to cover his eyes. He lied face up across the couch, twisting his torso back and forth at random intervals, as if he would escape the pounding in his head if only he could contort his body in the correct position. Ragged pants escaped his lips as he tried to breathe through the blinding agony building in his skull.

  
Kirsten’s gaze trailed along Cameron’s shifting form to discover that Cameron’s right arm twisted around the back of his neck so that his right hand was on top of his head. It looked awkward, but she supposed that even the illusion of covering his eyes might be worth soreness the next day.

  
Despite the darkness, she detected the smallest movement and leaned in closer, her curiosity drew her a few steps forward.

  
His left hand was buried into his hair. Cameron’s fingers moved back and forth over one brown lock. Cameron kept a steady rhythm, his fingers curling back and forth in what Kirsten recognized as another self-soothing gesture. Any time Cameron started to feel worried, one of his hands would find its way deep into his thick hair and direct it away from his face. The habit was more of a nervous tick than anything else, pulling and tugging as if he could solve the world’s problems if only he could get his hair out of his eyes.

  
Tonight, Kirsten noticed, the movement was different. Cameron was much gentler with himself. He combed his fingers through one section of his hair, slowly finishing each stroke before starting over again. With a pang of sympathy, Kirsten realized that Cameron, maybe even subconsciously, was trying to fulfill the role of comforter even when it was he who needed the comfort.

  
Kirsten took a seat on the armrest of the couch. The confusion and frustration that had resided within her drained away as she watched Cameron continue to grasp at his hair to ease his pain, struggling to ride out the migraine.

  
Kneeling beside the couch so that her face was inches away from Cameron’s face, Kirsten let her hand hover over him for a moment before she let it fall. She let the warmth from her hand seep into Cameron’s and she curled her fingers around his palm.

  
Cameron flinched at the pressure, but remained in his dazed stupor. Kirsten took his pliancy as a signal to proceed, so she gingerly tugged Cameron’s hand off of his head and tucked it under his chest. Without missing a beat, she placed her own hand atop Cameron’s head and ran her fingers through his dark brown hair. She mimicked the movement perfectly and Cameron let out a soft hum of contentment.

  
“Hmm,” he purred, letting his eyes crack open halfway. “Kirsten?” he mumbled, slowly realizing that she had her fingers tangled in his mess of hair.

  
“I’m here,” Kirsten confirmed in a hushed voice. She felt the tension evaporate from Cameron’s body as he relaxed deeper into the cushions.

  
The lines across Cameron’s forehead disappeared in time with Kirsten’s stroking. “Feels good,” he slurred.

  
“Hope so,” Kirsten whispered before pressing a kiss to Cameron’s forehead. “Only wish I’d thought to come out here before.”

  
“That was my fault,” Cameron admitted solemnly. “Just thought I could handle it myself.”

  
“You could if you needed to,” she said. The corner of Cameron’s mouth turned upwards at Kirsten’s remark. “But you’ll never need to when I’m with you.”

* * *

  
The next morning, Cameron would have sworn that the few tears he shed when Kirsten made that promise to him were just beads of sweat. A completely biological response to the stimulus of excruciating pain that plagued him throughout the night.

  
Even though he had woken up pain free, he was still feeling tired from the ordeal that caused him a slight clumsiness that Kirsten knew bothered him. Given Cameron’s state of recovery, Kirsten decided not to press the subject beyond breakfast. Instead, she focused on prying open the new bottle of strawberry jam to put on the wheat bread she had just toasted for herself. Cameron opted for his toast to be dry.

  
Once the screw top finally gave way, Kirsten brought it to the table and sat down. Just as she started to lower herself into the chair, she realized that she had forgotten to bring a knife to spread the jam onto her bread. She bit back a curse and started to rise until Cameron held out his hand to stop her.

  
“Sit” he encouraged, using the table to press himself to standing. “I got it.”

  
Cameron retrieved the knife from a drawer. Kirsten held out her hand to accept the knife, but Cameron winked and shook his head, snatching Kirsten’s plate. He deftly added the jam to her toast and slide the plate back towards her, earning a burst of surprised laughter from Kirsten.

  
“Thank you,” she acknowledged after her first bite, wryly adding, “But I can handle putting some jam on my toast.”

  
“I know you can,” Cameron grinned. “But you won’t need to when I’m with you.”


End file.
